The Love He Ought to Have
by R. Grace
Summary: Expanded! AU starting with insight into each character's thoughts in the wake of *that* scene from the finale, and ending in a happier ending all around. Mary/Matthew with a lot of focus on Lavinia, who recovers from her illness. *Some sexual references*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in my story.**

**A/N: **So...I'm taking a moment away from my usual P&P fic to freak out over season 2 of Downton Abbey! I watched the entire thing on amazon instant video last weekend, and, good heavens, what an angst bath! If the Christmas special hadn't ended on a happy note, I think I would still be in the fetal position in a corner somewhere. :) Anyway, I felt like writing this, so here you go.

**Blurb: **After witnessing a tender moment between her fiance and Lady Mary, Lavinia decides to question Isobel about Matthew's past. AU from there. Lavinia recovers from her illness, determined to see Matthew follow the right path despite his sense of honor. Will she be able to bring the star-crossed lovers together at last? Contains a lot of insight into the thoughts of all three characters. Rated teen for some sexual references.

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><p><em>Part l<em>

Lavinia had spent the better part of the morning, as well as several restless hours the night before, pondering the scene she had witnessed between her betrothed and Lady Mary. Did she even have a right to call him hers, she wondered, when his heart so clearly belonged to his cousin?

Mary was everything Lavinia was not. She was poised, witty, strong, and beautiful - so impossibly beautiful. Lavinia wondered how she could ever stand a chance against all that. It shouldn't surprise her at all that Matthew would want Mary. After seeing them in each other's arms, it was painfully clear that they were perfect for each other. A brilliant match; an obvious one. Who was she to stand in the way of fate?

While trying, uselessly, to rest and recover from her sudden bout of illness, Lavinia formed a resolution to uncover the whole truth about Matthew's past where Mary was concerned. It had become glaringly obvious after last night's performance that there was more to their history than she had been told. That hadn't looked like a first kiss. It had been too easy, too familiar. It had even looked natural, easy as breathing and as necessary. With a sad sigh, she acknowledged that Matthew had never kissed her, not really. Before, she thought he was merely behaving as a true gentleman should, but last night made the truth painfully clear.

Lavinia's conscience would never allow her to go forward with the wedding until she knew the whole story. She was smart enough to know that ignorance wasn't always bliss. Besides, plain and insignificant though she might be in her own estimation, Lavinia had enough healthy pride to detest the idea of being with a man who was in love with another woman. It would be intolerable, no matter how much she adored Matthew.

When Isobel came into the room to sit with her, Lavinia saw her chance to have her questions answered.

"Isobel," she began, her voice small and uncertain. "Would you tell me of Matthew's past...where Mary is concerned?"

Isobel was surprised by Lavinia's sudden curiosity, and knew not how to begin. She should have expected that the poor girl would start to suspect something between the two at some point. It was glaringly obvious to anyone with eyes that Matthew and Mary were in love with each other, and that they were well suited. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she tried to find the gentlest way to go about divulging the possibly painful truth.

"I know there is more than what Matthew has let on," Lavinia continued. "I have tried, several times, to hint around for more details, but he always quickly steers the conversation in another direction. It's as if it is painful for him to even think about, whatever it is."

"Oh, my dear," the older lady began kindly, reaching out to take Lavinia's hand in her own. "I'm so sorry for the way things have gone these past several months. First Matthew's injury, now this delay in your wedding plans. It must be very hard on you, though I know you to be a good deal stronger than you appear."

Lavinia smiled gratefully and gave Isobel's hand an affectionate squeeze. The two had always gotten on well, and she knew she could count on her fiancé's kindly mother to tell her the truth, even if it was painful.

"I won't beat about the bush, my dear. Just before the war broke out, Matthew proposed to Mary, and she...well, she didn't exactly refuse him, but she didn't accept him either."

It was a blow, but not an unexpected one. In a way, it was a relief to finally know the truth.

"What I mean to say is," Isobel continued, "Mary, more than once, told him she wasn't ready to answer him either way. I believe this went on for a couple of months. Matthew was so hopeful of receiving a positive response, until Lady Grantham was found to be with child again. Matthew seemed to be under the impression that Mary wouldn't answer his proposal until the child was born. If it was a boy, Matthew would no longer have been the heir to Downton Abbey."

"I see," Lavinia muttered quietly. For a moment, she hated Mary for being so shallow and cruel. Poor, poor Matthew. What a terrible time it must have been for him.

"Once he got this idea into his head, he resolved to forget her, thinking she didn't love him enough to risk finding herself tied to a country solicitor for life. I, however, was, and have remained, convinced that there must be more to it than that. Everyone who had seen them together had been expecting the match to go forward. They were clearly quite attached to one another. "

Isobel paused for a moment, lost in memories of what she believed was the second darkest time in her son's life.

"He was so despondent, almost as bad as he was when he learnt of his paralysis. I had never seen him so downcast. He had me terribly worried. Then he rushed off to enlist as soon as the idea struck him. He fed me a lot of hogwash about it being his duty, and an inevitability, but I know he was searching for an escape from his disappointment. I was terrified that he would go off to war and do something rash, or not be as careful he he could be."

Seeing the younger woman's expression of stunned disbelief, Isobel nodded her head to emphasize her point. "Yes, it was that bad."

Isobel's expression was soon lit by a fond smile, and she patted Lavinia's hand encouragingly.

"And then he came home from London one day, smiling and behaving like his old self again, telling me all about the sweet girl he had met who made him feel so very special."

Lavinia smiled genuinely at the memory of their first meeting, of how dashing he had looked in his scarlet jacket, and of how like a love-struck schoolgirl she must have appeared.

"I suppose I did stare rather openly," she admitted with a slight blush.

"He needed you, my dear," Isobel assured her. "He needed someone to care about him genuinely, for who he is rather than what his prospects are. Someone to make him feel desirable, wanted. Someone genuine, and free of the airs and pretensions he had been fighting against for the past couple years. Someone like you."

"But the truth is, he never really loved me, I think," Lavinia spoke up. "I made him feel wanted, and he took that good feeling to be something it wasn't."

There was a slight pause in the conversation as Isobel tried to find a way to respond to such a statement. She wished desperately that she could contradict it, but knew that to do so would be to tell a falsehood.

"I know he cares for me," Lavinia continued, "but his real love, his _true _love, has been, and always will be, Mary. I'm beginning to see that now. I know what real passion is because I've seen it in the way he looks at her, and the way she looks at him. I could never give him that. And I could never be responsible for stealing away the life he ought to have." *

Isobel took several deep breaths as she prepared herself for what she knew she must say next. She hated that her son had misled this dear, sweet girl, but admired that he was trying to do what he saw as the noble thing to do.

"Lavinia, I want you to know that I would love to have you for a daughter-in-law, very much. But I would understand if you felt uncomfortable marrying a man who will forever be haunted by feelings for another woman. Particularly a woman who is a member of his family, and therefore unavoidable."

Nodding her head in response, Lavinia made up her mind to release Matthew from their engagement. As much as it would hurt for the present, she knew the pain of being married to him for years and years while feeling guilty for having stood in the way of the deeper love and passion he should have had would be a thousand times worse. It would be hard, but for her own sake, as well as his and Mary's, she would set him free.

At that very moment, the object of her contemplation entered the room, his lovely smile warming her heart as it always had. Releasing him was going to be the hardest thing she had ever done, but she loved him enough to do it.

Sensing that Lavinia had some very important things to discuss with her son, Isobel, putting on a cheerful mien, decided to give the pair some time alone to sort out their futures, which she was now convinced would no longer be intertwined.

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><p><em>*Here, Lavinia uses Matthew's own words to her in Episode 5.<em>

_I loved Lavinia as a character, as much as I wanted to hate her for distracting Matthew. ;) For a plot device character, she is surprisingly deep. I enjoyed writing this little extra insight into her thoughts. Lavinia is a perfect character, meaning she has no tragic flaw. She serves as the perfect foil to Mary, who is, perhaps, the most flawed, as well as dynamic, character in the series. Ok, I'll stop boring you will my literature nerd analysis now. _

_Thanks for reading! _


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **My muse, who has been running amuck ever since I finished watching season 2, has compelled me to expand this story, even venturing into AU territory later on! I will probably just have three or four more updates after this one. Several readers mentioned in their responses to the first posting that Lavinia didn't deserve her fate. I agree, so I have decided to give her a better one! For the purposes of this story, her illness is truly over. She will not relapse, and, later, we will get to see how her conversation with Matthew would have gone if she hadn't felt too tired to continue.

This chapter is all inside Matthew's head, exploring his thoughts going in to the conversation with Lavinia in which she will try to break the engagement. I have upped the rating to teen due to a couple sexual references in this chapter.

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><p><em>Part ll<em>

Matthew breezed into the room wearing a grin that was only half forced. Lavinia was a darling girl. It was easy to smile whenever he was in her presence. Nevertheless, the tender moment he had shared with Mary the previous evening had replayed itself over and over in his mind, keeping him awake throughout the night with mingled frustrated desire and heart-wrenching guilt. He was exhausted, heartsick, and even a bit nervous as he faced his fiance.

It did not help that he couldn't be certain what Lavinia had seen or heard that evening. She had not given any indication at the time, merely offering some cryptic remark about feeling like a nuisance before following Mary up to her room. Lavinia was such an angel, he would never forgive himself if he injured her in any way, but he also cared about Mary's feelings. She had seemed quite forlorn of late, which had worried him. The look in her sad brown eyes as she had made that pitiful comment about them being a show that flopped...well, he had just _had_ to let her know how sorry he was, for everything. He had needed to show her that he still cared, that she still held a place in his heart. Then everything had gone so horribly awry when Lavinia had come down at precisely the wrong moment.

It was a disaster. He had tried to do the right thing by Lavinia. He had proposed to her in haste before his first visit to Downton after leaving for war, all the while denying the conviction that he was behaving precipitously out of a desire to spite Mary, to show her that someone wanted him and that he had forgotten her. What a fool he had been! He did care for Lavinia, he truly did. Maybe in another life they could have been perfectly happy together. However, Mary was a part of his world, a part of him, and always would be. He would live in her shadow until his dying day.

During his most trying moments at the front, it was always Mary's face that had come to mind, her voice that rang in his ears over the deafening roar of battle. Flat on his back in the hospital, it was Mary's steady touch he had needed to find the will to live another moment. And when, at last, the familiar stirrings of desire had returned to his body, they were inspired by a tantalizing glimpse of Mary's trim ankles and calves as she had ascended the stairs one evening. He remembered that moment with surprising clarity. Without even knowing it, Mary had made him a man again. She had brought him back to life.

Later that night, he had pleasured himself to the memory of her sultry beauty in that damnable red dress. Guilt consumed him afterwards. Mary wasn't his. Lavinia was. Yet, he could not bring himself to truly regret it in his gratitude that such pleasures were once again his to enjoy.

Now he must face his fiance to set a new date for their marriage. He groaned inwardly at the thought. He had so wanted it over and done with so that he could get away from the temptation Mary presented and move forward with his life. He had nearly had himself mentally prepared to put the final nail in the coffin of his relationship with Mary, when they had shared those few torturous minutes alone together that had nearly shattered his resolve entirely. It was only the thought of the anguished look on Lavinia's face the first time he had tried to break their engagement that kept his resolve firm. Even if he could have Mary, their happiness would be forever marred by the knowledge that he had behaved so abominably towards this gentle soul. It was impossible to even contemplate.

In a desperate attempt at optimism, Matthew told himself that his longing for Mary would fade with time, as his love for Lavinia grew. One day there would be children to bring them even closer. He was sure he could make Lavinia happy, which would bring him a great deal of satisfaction. The realistic part of his mind, however, reminded him that he would never forget Mary. He _could_ never forget Mary. She would always be a member of his family, probably even living mere minutes from the Abbey at that estate Sir Richard had purchased. For the rest of his life, she would haunt him like a siren dancing just out of his reach. For Lavinia's sake, he must, somehow, muster the strength to resist the temptation to repeat last night's indiscretion, or commit an infinitely worse one, for years, and years, and years on end.

Two weeks. It was probably best to postpone the wedding for two weeks to allow guests appropriate time to adjust their travel plans. That meant two more weeks of the torment of Mary's constant presence, now with the addition of that ill-timed kiss to further complicate things between them.

As much as he berated himself for his carelessness, Matthew knew that, given the chance, he would repeat it many times over. Her appeal was too great, too potent, to resist. God, he wanted her so much, perhaps more than he ever had! He knew it was more than just her sensual appeal that he craved, which made her all the more dangerous. He enjoyed her company more than that of any other person he had ever known. It had been that way for years.

Before he had known Mary, Matthew had thought the idea of soulmates to be absurd, romantic nonsense. But then she had come into his life with her sparkling wit and strong spirit, touching something inside him that he had never known was there, and his spirit recognized her kindred one almost as instantly as his eyes had recognized her incomparable beauty. She had resisted their bond for longer than he had, but he knew she felt it too. It was what kept her constantly by his side when he was so gravely injured. It was what compelled her to do things for him most women would have been appalled to even think of. Somehow, she had anticipated his every need, as though his pain, his discomfort, and his grief had been her own. He knew she felt it. She had tried, valiantly, to hide her tears from him, but he had known she wept for him. For her sake, he tried to raise his spirits, to avoid hurting her further with his moroseness. Perhaps he even owed his life to her. At moments when he felt as if it would be easier to simply end it all, her strength and vitality would bolster him. If anyone could have kept him alive and forced him to get better purely on the strength of her will, it was Mary.

He looked down at Lavinia reclining in the bed, dressed in only a thin nightgown, her ginger curls falling down over her pale shoulders. She was a pretty girl, certainly a sweet, loving soul. There was no earthly reason why Matthew should dread his wedding night, but a part of him did, and he felt impossibly more guilty because of it. It was not so much that he didn't want to make love to Lavinia. She had all the necessary charms to make the experience a pleasant one, and he was sure she would be a willing and giving partner in all aspects of their relationship. Yet, somehow, any time he tried to imagine being intimate with Lavinia, Mary's face would appear in his mind, wearing that stricken look she had worn all those years ago at the garden party when he had first turned his back on _them._ He had often been nearly beside himself with worry that he would think of Mary more than he thought of his own wife on his wedding night, and on many nights thereafter. Lavinia was an attractive girl, but Mary had completely bewitched him. Was he doomed to be eternally eaten up with self-recrimination for betraying both of the women in his life?

Forcing all thoughts aside but those of duty and necessity, Matthew somehow found a genuine smile inside himself to give to the woman who had given him so much these past few years. Somehow, he would find it in him to be the man, the husband, she deserved.

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><p><em>After the first posting, I started thinking about what Matthew's thoughts would have been after *that* scene. This was the result of that contemplation. Coming up: Mary's thoughts, tough conversations, difficult decisions, and a brighter future for everyone! <em>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Another chapter already! This one's a bit angsty, but, I guess they all are at this point. This time we hear from both Matthew and Lavinia. (Being in Matthew's head last time was fun, though it can get a bit steamy in there.;)) I managed to sneak in a missing M/M scene into this installment as well. Enjoy!

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><p><em>Part lll<em>

Lavinia sensed the tension in Matthew's demeanor as soon as his mother left the room. His smile was genuine and encouraging, but she could tell something was weighing on him, and she had a fairly accurate idea of what, or rather whom, that something was. He was saying something to his mother, but she couldn't have repeated what. She was too engrossed in deciding how she was to begin saying what she knew she must.

Matthew took the seat Isobel had vacated, immediately jumping into the business at hand.

"I've been thinking about the date for the rematch, and...what is it?"

Lavinia wasn't listening to a word he was saying. In fact, she wasn't even looking at him. She couldn't look at him, not if she were going to go through with letting him go. It was easy to imagine doing so while alone or with Isobel, but with him sitting before her, handsome and charming as ever, her resolve was beginning to weaken. Reminding herself of all the reasons she had to do this, she began.

"It's just that...I wonder if we haven't been rather lucky..."

"We've both been very lucky..." he interrupted without realizing she had more to say.

"...that we've been given a second chance," she finished.

"A second chance at what?" Matthew asked, confused by her cryptic remarks. Why, for heaven's sake, did women always have to speak in riddles?

"To be quite, quite sure about what we're doing." Lavinia clarified.

Now Matthew was truly confused. Lavinia had never expressed any doubts before.

"Darling what can you mean?" he asked.

"The thing is...I might as well say it," she began. Clearly, she would have to be direct. "When I came downstairs, and you and Mary were dancing...I heard what you said, and I saw what you did."

_Damn._

"But that was..." _A mistake? An accident? An impulsive decision made in the heat of the moment? _

"No, it's not that I'm in rage and a fury," she continued before he could decide what to say. "In fact, I think it's noble of you to want to keep your word when things have changed. But I'm not sure it would be right for me to hold you to it."

"Lavinia I can explain..."

"No ,listen," she stopped him firmly. "I've had lots of time to think about it. I love you very, very much, and I've wanted to marry you from the first moment I saw you. All that is true. But I didn't really know what I was taking on. It's not in me to be queen of the county. I'm a little person, an ordinary person."

_Don't cry, don't cry. Keep it together._

"And, when I saw you and Mary, together I thought...how fine, how _right_ you looked together."

"I don't want to hear this." Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He really _didn't_ want to hear it. It was too painful. The wounds Mary had inflicted all those years ago were still too fresh, too raw. Of course he knew he and Mary were _right_ together. He had known it for years. Hearing it spoken aloud always made the reality that they would never be together that much more hurtful.

"Well, you must," she insisted. "Because it isn't a sudden thing."

Oh, God, had he really been that transparent all along? He had tried so hard, for Lavinia's sake, to behave towards Mary as though she were nothing more to him than another cousin, just a member of his family, nothing more. Apparently he had failed. Matthew waited apprehensively to hear Lavinia out, hard though it was not to contradict each word that she said.

"I was starting to worry, and then when you were wounded I thought it was my calling to look after you, and care for you. And I didn't think Mary would have done that quite as well as me."

"No, no not nearly as well," he agreed automatically in hopes of placating his fiance, who was clearly becoming distraught. He felt terribly uneasy saying it, though. Lavinia didn't know the half of what Mary had done for him during his worst times when he first arrived at the hospital. Lavinia didn't know that Mary had taken it upon herself to perform all the most intimate and humiliating services he required, all with the intention of sparing him embarrassment at the hands of strangers. Somehow, it had made it better that it was her. Everything she did was done with such a caring touch, always with...well, with love. He had denied it for long enough, he thought he may as well accept it, in light of what transpired the previous evening.

He had suppressed most of his memories of his time in the hospital, but one flitted through his mind in that instant. Mary, beautiful, darling Mary, had been sitting on the edge of his bed, cradling one of his hands in both of hers. His stomach had been churning constantly since she had spoon fed him a bowl of soup. Noticing his discomfort, she had left to fetch him some peppermint tea. While she was gone, his nausea had reached unbearable proportions, and, despite his frantic efforts, he hadn't been able to hold on until her return. Without her surprisingly-strong arms to help him sit up, he had been sick all over himself, and all over the bed.

When Mary had returned to his side, it was to find him covered in his own vomit, sobbing like a child out of anger and humiliation. She was immediately at his side, gently cleaning his face with a handkerchief and whispering soothing words to him. Her free hand clasped one of his without hesitation, despite the fact that it was covered in vomit. She soothed him with kind words and her gentle touch until he had regained control of himself. Then she had helped him into clean clothes and fresh blankets, all without blinking an eye at the mess and the horrible stench. Afterwords, she sat beside him again and began chatting calmly as they had been before he was sick, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She had known exactly what he needed. She always had. Lavinia had been a kind and gentle companion when he had needed someone to push his chair and keep him company, but Mary had been his rock when he could do nothing for himself.

"I do have some self worth," Lavinia's voice pulled him back to the present. "Just not enough to make you marry the wrong person."

"What you're saying is pointless. Mary's marrying somebody else." After he spoke, Matthew realized what he had said. He had as good as admitted that he had thought about it, about being with Mary. He may was well have admitted he wanted to be, though he had already done that the previous evening, hadn't he? He also realized that a large part of the reason he was so desperate to stop Lavinia from breaking their engagement was that he didn't want to be left alone, especially if Mary went through with her marriage to Carlisle. The pain of imagining her at the mercy of that horrible man would be all too much to bear without the distraction Lavinia could provide.

"Is she? We'll see." Lavinia raised her eyebrows challengingly. Matthew had just confirmed her suspicions. She knew he meant well, but she didn't want to be anybody's second choice, not even Matthew's. She knew she deserved better than that.

"I won't let you do this," Matthew pressed.

"You will, Matthew," she insisted. "You will let me go because I deserve to be with someone who loves me the way you do Mary. I don't deserve a husband in whose affections I will always be second to another woman."

Matthew opened his mouth to protest, but Lavinia immediately silenced him by holding up one of her hands.

"Please, no more denials. I know the truth now, and it changes things. I'm not angry, I promise. And I'm not terribly brokenhearted, though I cannot deny it does hurt a great deal. It has been coming on so gradually and for so long now that it's almost a relief to have it over with. And certainly better to know now than after we'd made a horrible mistake we couldn't take back."

Lavinia paused for a moment to study Matthew's body language. His head was in his hands, shoulders slumped in defeat. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle.

"Your mother told me you proposed to Mary, long ago, before the war. I know that, if you had been truly over her, you would have told me about that."

Matthew sat back, scrubbing his hands over his face, and breathed deeply.

"I'm so sorry, Lavinia. So terribly sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't anybody's fault," Lavinia responded, purposely echoing Mary's words. "Your mother explained to me that you needed me, at the time, and I was glad to be of service. In a way, I'm grateful for what happened. It gave me the chance to see what true love is. You and Mary have given me something to aspire to, and I won't ever settle for less now that I've seen it. And neither should you."

Matthew had no strength left to fight Lavinia on this point. He knew she was right. She deserved better than what he could give her. She deserved the chance to find someone who had his whole heart to give, and he had no doubt in his mind that she would. He chuckled to himself at the thought that, while he was trying to do the noble thing, he had, in fact, been behaving terribly selfishly. How very, very foolish he had been! If he had been a wise man he would never have left that garden party without securing Mary's hand. He would have married her, and poured all the love in his heart into their union until she returned it in equal measure. Perhaps they would, even now, be parents. When he thought of all the years of happiness his stubbornness had cost both him and Mary, he felt positively ill.

Matthew rose to leave, exhausted by the turmoil of his emotions. Lavinia's voice stopped him just before he opened the door to depart.

"I wish you, and Mary, all the best, Matthew. Please know that. And I would very much appreciate an invitation to the wedding."

Though she tried desperately to keep her voice steady, it wavered slightly on the last word, and a lone tear escaped her. Fortunately, Matthew wasn't looking at her, but at the carpet at his feet.

After Matthew had left her in search of solitude, Lavinia rang for a maid to help her dress and fix her hair. She felt fully recovered, and detested the thought of sitting idly in bed wallowing in self-pity. She would leave Downton soon, but, first, there was someone else she needed to speak to.

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><p>Well, there you have it. I hope I was fairly accurate with what was going on in their minds during the conversation. I actually got quite angry the first time I saw this scene and Matthew agreed with Lavinia that Mary wasn't as good a nurse. At least the look on his face left some room for interpretation. I just couldn't believe that he would actually think that. Anyway, I'm sure everyone's glad that Lavinia's better. Next time, we go inside Mary's head. Brace yourselves!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Well, we've seen Lavinia's side of things, sifted through the good, the bad, and the ugly with Matthew...now it's Mary's turn! I tried not to spend too much time in Mary's head. The angst level in there is through the roof! If you can stick with me long enough to get past the longing and regret, we'll see how Mary reacts to the big news!

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><p><em>Part Vl<em>

Downton Abbey was a flurry of activity. Between the outbreak of the Spanish influenza, Anna's unexpected (but very welcome) announcement of her impending marriage to Bates, and the unwanted early appearance of her fiance, Mary was surprised she had any time to dwell on unpleasant subjects at all. But, if the past five years had taught her anything, it was that keeping Matthew out of her thoughts for any length of time was an exercise in futility.

Mary often looked at her grandmother and saw herself in thirty years - old, alone, cantankerous as anyone had a right to be. Granny had faced trials in her lifetime, and they had made her strong, impervious. Mary wondered if the trials she faced - the loneliness, the loss, the pain - would make her strong like Granny, or if they would one day break her to pieces.

She often wondered what that final straw would be. Perhaps she still had sufficient strength to weather the inevitable day when she would have to attend the christening of Matthew and Lavinia's first child. Good God, what if they asked her to be the child's godmother? That would do it, for sure.

How many such occasions would she have to weather? Of course, it went the other way, too. She would have her own children, some day, by a man she detested more with each passing minute spent in his presence. She would bear the children of a blackmailer. A mirthless laugh escaped her at the thought of what horrible ruffians their union would certainly produce. Any child of Matthew's would be an angel. Throw Lavinia into the equation, and they would be bound to produce a perfect little brood of blond-haired, blue-eyed cherubim that Mary would be forced to love no matter how much that love would cost her.

Sometimes Mary wished that Matthew had brought home some snobby little society tart with a penchant for wearing enormously gaudy jewels and a constant preoccupation with cataloguing the wealth of her future home. But, alas, Matthew would never be so obliging as to bring home someone Mary could justify hating. He brought home the sweetest, most impossible-to-dislike-or-think-ill-of, little saint he could possibly have found. What cruel twist of fate had put Mary on the side of the woman Matthew wanted to throw her over for just when she was finally ready to beg on her hands and knees to be given a second chance? Sometimes, it was really all too much.

She remembered the first time he brought Lavinia to Downton for that dreadful concert. Mary had still been shallow enough at that point to feel relieved that she held the upper hand in the beauty and charm department. Matthew had looked so impossibly delicious in that red uniform jacket. She had to wonder at the sanity of the woman who had the privilege of calling the handsomest man in the room her fiance, yet stood by his side like a pretty statue, barely even paying him any notice. If _she_ had had the great honor to call him hers, Mary would have happily hung on his arm all evening, whispering the occasional flirtatious remark in his ear, biding her time until she could pull him into a quiet corner somewhere and fully demonstrate just how very, very much she admired him in scarlet.

Her ill-fated encounter with Kamal Pamuk, on that momentous night so many years past, had tormented Mary more than anyone knew. It was more than just the threat of scandal and ruin that daily hung over her head. It even went deeper than her regret that she had allowed it to, inadvertently, cause her to lose Matthew. That night, the handsome Turk had opened Mary's eyes to desires and needs she had never been previously aware of. It was a dam that, once opened, could never be shut. The thought that, had she simply said "yes" when she had the chance and "no" when she should have, Matthew would now be hers, and all the nights she was forced to lay awake in a torment of unfulfilled desire would, instead, be spent in contented slumber in her beloved's embrace, tormented her constantly. If only Matthew knew the truth. She hadn't refused him out of a lack of love at all, quite the opposite. If she had loved him less, perhaps she might have taken him without letting him know of her fall from grace. She could have had all her desires fulfilled at the cost of deceiving the most wonderful man in the world. If the price she must now pay for her folly in giving in to Kamal's advances was watching Matthew marry a woman who was actually worthy of him, then she would try to bear it with equanimity, for his sake.

Now, on top of everything, Matthew had as much as admitted that he still wanted her. When they had danced...God, what sweet torment it had been to be in his arms! Her dear, darling Matthew! How soft his lips had felt against hers! She had responded to his kiss like a starving woman offered manna from heaven. And how sweet it had been! For those few, stolen seconds he had been completely hers, as it always should have been. He was the other half of her heart and always would be, regardless of who he or she ended up married to. She had never chosen it, never wished to fall so deeply. It had happened completely without her consent or knowledge. Love seemed an inadequate description for the connection they shared. It went deeper than that.

Mary had never been so certain that she shared some kind of spiritual bond with Matthew as she had been when she though back to that afternoon she had taken a strange turn and dropped her teacup, then learned mere days later that he had been gravely injured. It seemed too strange to be real, yet she felt in her heart that if he were ever taken from the world she would feel it at once. She had loved him for too many years. He had become as much a part of her as her own heart was. She could live without him in her life as long as he was out there, in the world, somewhere. If he was out there in the world somewhere, as well as healthy and happy, then that was even better.

She had been consoling herself with the thought that, in Lavinia, he was getting a woman worthy of him who would make him happy. His hints that marrying Lavinia might not be what he truly wanted had haunted her with worry and regret. If only she had locked her door that fateful night, Kamal wouldn't have been able to enter and tempt her to do things she would forever wish undone. If only she had screamed when she said she was going to! Her reputation might have been tarnished, but Matthew would have, at the very least, believed that she had attempted to resist. Perhaps he could have forgiven her that much. To ask him to forgive all that she had done, all that she had allowed herself to be convinced to do...it was unthinkable that he ever could.

The knock at Mary's bedroom door was so soft that, in her pensive state, Mary almost didn't hear it.

"Come in," she called, her voice embarrassingly unsteady.

Mary's mood couldn't help but lighten at the sight of Lavinia's pretty smile as her unlikely friend entered the room, closing the door behind her.

"I'm so glad to see that you've recovered!" Mary offered genuinely. "I only wish Mama were doing as well."

"Oh, yes, how is dear Lady Grantham doing?" Lavinia asked kindly.

"Not well, I'm afraid. Still, Dr. Clarkson says there's hope. If she can hold on until morning, she should be out of danger."

"She'll pull through it, I'm sure," Lavinia continued. "I should think you would like to be with her during this time."

Mary smiled ruefully at the insinuation, though she could tell it was kindly meant. Everything Lavinia said or did was always kindly meant.

"I was with her, but Sybil and Edith are both there, in addition to Papa and the doctor. Cousin Isobel is also helping, as is Mama's maid. I'm afraid I was quite underfoot."

Lavinia offered Mary an understanding smile and stepped further into the room.

"I'm glad I caught you alone, Mary. There is something of great import I must speak to you about."

"Of course," was Mary's automatic answer, though her trepidation grew as thoughts of what that greatly important something might be.

Mary offered her guest the stool at her dressing table, and seated herself on the edge of the bed. She clasped her hands nervously in her lap, fighting to keep them still, as she began to speak, as she knew she must, of the usual difficult subject.

"Well, now that you're better, I suppose you and Matthew will be setting a new date for the wedding. Have you spoken with him about it yet?"

Lavinia took several deep breaths to compose herself before answering. Having two trying conversations in the space of an hour was difficult, but she knew it would be easier to have all the unpleasantness done with so that she could focus on resting and preparing for her journey home.

"Mary, I have...I have broken off my engagement to Matthew."

There was a pause of several moments in which Lavinia gauged Mary's reaction to the news. For a moment, she worried that she should ring for some smelling salts, but Mary recovered herself quickly enough to spare her the trouble. All the color had drained from her face, an unreadable emotion shone in her dark eyes. Mary's mouth opened as if to speak, but words seemed to have failed her.

"Matthew and I are no longer getting married," Lavinia reiterated.

This time, the information seemed to penetrate Mary's consciousness.

"Why?" Mary demanded unthinkingly. Only a half-second after she spoke, Mary wished the offending word unsaid. Her face turned impossibly more white as she continued to speak in a tremulous voice. "Lavinia, please tell me it isn't because of me. What happened last night...I never meant..."

"Of course you didn't mean it, Mary," Lavinia interrupted. "Nobody ever truly means for these things to happen. But it did happen, and I saw, and heard, everything."

"Oh, Lavinia..."

Mary's thoughts raced without order or reason inside her head. She had ruined everything. Matthew's happiness, Lavinia's future, her relationship with both... It was all her fault. And she hadn't the slightest idea how to begin making amends.


	5. Chapter 5

_Part V_

"Matthew and I are no longer getting married," Lavinia reiterated.

This time, the information seemed to penetrate Mary's consciousness.

"Why?" Mary demanded unthinkingly. Only a half-second after she spoke, Mary wished the offending word unsaid. Her face turned impossibly more white as she continued to speak in a tremulous voice. "Lavinia, please tell me it isn't because of me. What happened last night...I never meant..."

"Of course you didn't mean it, Mary," Lavinia interrupted. "Nobody ever truly means for these things to happen. But it did happen, and I saw, and heard, everything."

"Oh, Lavinia..."

To say Mary was stunned by the news would be a great understatement. She didn't quite know what to think, but she knew whom it was that was foremost in those thoughts, whose concerns were dearest to her heart.

"And Matthew, is he alright? Oh, God, I'm so sorry that I caused him to lose you!" Once the dam of words had opened up inside Mary, she didn't have the strength to shut them off again. "You're so _good_ for him, Lavinia! All I ever did was cause him heartache. It seems that, even now, that's all I ever do for him! I'm so, so sorry..."

"Mary, please, don't blame yourself for this!" Lavinia interrupted Mary's soliloquy as gently as she could. Rising from her place at the vanity, Lavinia relocated to Mary's side, and began patting her shoulder comfortingly. "Nobody can help who they fall in love with."

Mary felt that she knew the truth of that statement more than most people. God knew she had tried hard enough not to fall for Matthew. Several moments passed in silence as both young women fought for composure.

Lavinia was the first to speak.

"I asked Isobel to tell me about your history with Matthew. So, now I know that he proposed to you several years ago, and that you put off accepting him until he eventually decided you didn't love him well enough and withdrew his offer. What I still wonder about is why you never accepted him. I've seen the two of you together. I know your care for him is real."

Mary laughed humorlessly as she pondered hers and Matthew's painful and sordid past. How on earth was she to explain herself to Lavinia when she hadn't been able to explain herself to anyone else? Lavinia was so kind, so sincere, and she understood Matthew so well. Suddenly Mary wanted to confide in Lavinia. She was sure that her sweet friend could be trusted with her dark secret. Even if the truth about her fall from grace caused her to lose Lavinia's respect, Mary was desperate to speak of it to _someone._ In fact, in a few weeks time, it may not matter at all who she did or did not tell. Mary was beginning to wonder if a lifetime tied to Richard Carlisle was a fate worse than social death.

"Lavinia," she began. "You are right, of course, that my hesitation had nothing to do with a lack of feelings on my part. I have...loved Matthew for so many years now, I cannot remember a time when I did not. I wanted to say "yes" to him, more than anything. But there was...something in my past...something about me that he didn't know. I could never have married him without complete honesty between us, but I knew that, when he learned the truth, he would never have had me anyway."

"Does Matthew know now, about whatever it is in your past you didn't want to tell him about?"

"No, and I hope he never does. He would despise me, and I could not bear it."

"I think you give Matthew too little credit, Mary," Lavinia urged. "What could you possibly have done that would cause him to despise _you_, the person he cares for most in the world?"

Mary smiled wistfully at Lavinia's naive assumption. If only it were true. It could have been, if she hadn't made so many stupid mistakes.

"I suppose, if I am to truly make you understand my hesitancy, I must start at the very beginning, when Matthew and I first met."

Mary proceeded to describe for Lavinia the circumstances leading up to Matthew's relocation to Downton, and all the uncharitable things she thought and felt towards him before they even laid eyes on each other. She told Lavinia of that first meeting with a wry smile and a fond gleam in her eyes.

"I heard him before I saw him, I'm afraid. He was loudly, and rudely, proclaiming his disgust at the idea of having one of his new benefactor's daughters thrust upon him. He insisted he would choose his own wife. I must say, I was suitably pleased by the stupefied look on his face when I entered the room. I'm afraid Isobel was terribly embarrassed."

Mary paused in her narrative for a few moments as she treasured the memory of the first time she beheld Matthew's face. She had been too blinded by her silly prejudices to see how very handsome he was, but not so much so that she failed to notice how blue his eyes were. She would have to have been completely blind not to notice that.

"The war changed him a lot, you know," Mary continued, softly. "Before, he was outspoken and opinionated to a fault. I thought him a self-absorbed, self-righteous, middle-class prig."

The affectionate smile on Mary's face assured Lavinia that any such negative feelings were in the distant past.

"I think the war helped smooth some of his rough edges, as it did mine. I shudder to think of how cruelly I treated him when he first came to Downton. I was so abominably rude to him. Dear Matthew, I could see that I was hurting him, and it only made me want to attack him more. I was so horrible to him at times...I have absolutely no idea how he came to love me. I was ridiculously vain and hateful, while he was unvarying kind and charming. It took nearly two years before my pride and jealousy allowed me to see his finer qualities.

I had only recently acknowledged my feelings for him when one night, quite unexpectedly, he proposed to me. I think he even surprised himself. We were engaged in our usual witty banter, and, the next thing I knew, we were kissing. I couldn't even tell you who started it. It might have been me. I'm not sure.

When he proposed... oh, how adorable he was! He sounded as though he were asking me for a favor. He may as well have said, 'Mary, would you please pass me the salt?' Then he looked shocked by what had come out of his own mouth! There was nothing I could do but kiss him again. Then I remembered...he knew nothing of my indiscretions. I couldn't accept him without telling him, no matter how much I would have liked to. So, I told him I needed time to think."

"Isobel said it was months after Matthew proposed that he withdrew," Lavinia cut it. "Why did you put off telling him for so long? I would have thought it might have been easier to simply have it over with."

Mary sighed deeply as she remembered that time. It had simultaneously been the best and the worst period in her life up to that point.

"I might have if he hadn't been so blasted wonderful. We had only about three weeks left at Downton before my family and I relocated to London for Sybil's coming out, and we saw each other almost every day of those weeks. He said, if I was still unsure of him, he would spend every moment he could spare trying to convince me. And he was _very_ persuasive. Always pulling me close for passionate kisses when he could, and whispering surreptitiously in my ear while in company. He alway made sure he sat beside me at dinner so that he could hold my hand under the table. Silly little things like that. It all meant so very much to me that I couldn't bear the thought that what I had to tell him would put an end to all such displays of affection forever."

Lavinia laughed breathlessly and shook her head.

"How very different that sounds from our courtship. We sat, very properly, across from each other in my father's parlor and discussed poetry and music. When he did kiss me, it was very short and chaste. Certainly nothing like the way he must have kissed you, as he did last night."

"Oh, Lavinia, I'm so terribly sorry for going on so. I forgot, for a moment, that it was his fiance I was speaking to. Please forgive my thoughtlessness."

"I'm not his fiance any more, Mary. Please don't trouble yourself. Your honesty is only serving to confirm that I made to right decision in releasing him."

Mary didn't quite know what to say to Lavinia. She knew not how to offer her friend any comfort. After a few moments passed in silence, she continued her reminiscences.

"He danced with me three times at Sybil's ball. During the last dance, he held me very close, and whispered in my ear that he loved me. When I didn't respond for a minute or so, he asked, very sweetly, if I loved him. I said ' I think so.'"

Mary's laugh was almost hysterical. How she wished she could have that moment back!

"Anyway, he extracted a promise from me that I would give him an answer to his proposal when I returned to Downton. I'm sure Isobel told you the rest. The discovery of my mother's sadly short pregnancy was the turning point. Everything deteriorated quite rapidly from there. And I lost him. Not a day goes by that I don't regret how things ended between us."

Lavinia mulled over Mary's story in her head for a few moments, letting it all sink in. Poor Matthew! Poor Mary! So much potential, spoilt by insecurities and miscommunications. What was all that compared to love? But then, there was still one part of the story about which she was still in the dark.

"Mary, I would never wish to force your confidence. But, I should like to understand what this indiscretion was that you were so convinced would cause you to lose Matthew's love. I just cannot imagine anything you had done could possibly have been that bad."

"Oh, but it was that bad. The worst."

The two women studied each other for a long moment. Mary saw the genuine concern in Lavinia's eyes, and took comfort from it. After all these years, she was finally going to open up to someone about the true impact her mistake had had upon her life.

"You see, I...Only a few months after Matthew came to Downton, I gave up my virtue to a man who was staying as a guest here. He was a Turkish diplomat. Very handsome, and very persuasive. And I gave in to him. It is beside the point, but it just so happened that the man had a weak heart, and it decided to give out while he was still on top of me. Can you imagine? He _died_ in my bed! It was absolutely horrible!"

Lavinia's eyes opened wide with shock. Could such a fantastic story possibly be true? It had to be true. Mary certainly would not make up a story like that about herself. She certainly understood why the thought of having to reveal such a thing to the man one hopes to marry would be an undesirable task.

"How...disturbing for you," Lavinia uttered lamely, in a desperate attempt at sympathy.

"I know Matthew wouldn't want a wife who had been with another man. He would want to be the first. He deserves to be the first, the only. I have regretted my weakness in giving in to Kamal's advances every day for all these years. It cost me my chance at happiness with Matthew, and, now, it is the reason I have to go through with my marriage to Richard, however much I have come to dislike him. He knows, and he probably will publish the story if I back out on him now."

"Oh, Mary, of course you needn't marry him if you do not wish to. I'm sure his threats are empty ones. You needn't worry. I have first hand experience with Sir Richard and his petty newspapers. The truth is, he cares more about money than anything else. He'll print what sells papers. I cannot imagine that a scandal that took place so many years ago, before the war changed people's priorities so drastically, would sell many papers. It certainly would not be first page material, not anymore. I know Matthew would stand by you no matter what."

"How can you know that? I could never allow Matthew's good name to be besmirched by my disgrace. There are still those in society who would relish the idea of Lord Grantham's daughter disgracing herself so abominably. Besides, Matthew would never want me once he knew."

"Maybe that would have been true before the war, and you cannot even know for sure that it would have been. But I have no doubt that Matthew would forgive you now, if you told him. Like you said, war changes people, Matthew included. After all he has seen, all his has had to do, how can you imagine he would hold an indiscretion you committed years and years ago, when you were so young and so different than you are now, against you today? No, Mary, it is in both of your best interests that you tell him."

"But, Lavinia..."

"Please, Mary, listen to me," Lavinia interrupted. "I will not marry Matthew. That much is decided. I refuse to marry a man who is in love with another woman. Matthew is still in love with you. That is abundantly clear. He deserves to have the kind of love only you can offer him. Yours is the love he ought to have, Mary. After all that he has suffered over these past years, don't you think he deserves to finally find true happiness? You must trust in his love, and tell him the whole truth. Honestly, I think he will be relieved to learn that it wasn't a lack of love that caused your hesitation to accept him. He may need some time to adjust, but, in the end, I believe it will all turn out for the best. I truly do."

Having said all she felt she needed to, Lavinia concluded her visit with a gentle squeeze of Mary's slender fingers. Her companion hadn't spoken a word for several moments, and was clearly deep in thought. It was time to leave Mary to ponder what had been said between them.

"I'll leave you alone now. I'm sure you have a good deal to think about."

Before she reached the door, Mary's voice stopped her.

"Lavinia," Mary whispered.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for...for being so kind about all this. I am truly sor..."

"Please, no more apologies," Lavinia cut her off. "The best way for you to make it up to me is to tell Matthew the truth about your past. He's still hurting over what he perceived as your rejection, even after all these years. I want him to be happy. Make him happy, Mary. That is the only way you can make the heartache I shall suffer worth while."

With that, Lavinia left to prepare for her return to London, leaving Mary alone with her thoughts.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Since I don't have time to respond to each and every review, I will put a bit of a blanket response here. First off, thank you all ever so much for the reviews! I love reading each and every one. JF was so kind as to leave us a good deal of room for interpretation and imagination in his work. Naturally, opinions will differ. I would love to please everyone with my interpretation of events, thoughts on what might have gone on off screen, etc., but I know that would be impossible. I have to write it as I see it.

I also know that not everyone shares my opinion that Mary is much, much prettier than Lavinia. I was actually surprised to hear that anyone thought they were equally pretty. I don't say this to be offensive, but to clarify some of the things I wrote. Actually, I think the reason I thought Lavinia was just average looking is that I look a lot like her. I also know American and British standards of beauty differ somewhat (I'm American). I'm not sure if it's that, or just the fact that she looks like me, but I never saw Lavinia as particularly attractive, certainly not as much so as Mary. Her inner beauty does shine through, though. I assumed that was what Matthew saw in her.

Anyhow, thanks for reading! I'm having so much fun playing with Lavinia's character. (I love her!) I think I may have just two posts left before I tie things up.

Oh, by the way, I can't find those season 3 pics everyone keeps mentioning. If anyone could send me a link or something, I would be much obliged!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Well, it's finally time for our favorite couple to talk to each other about all this. Thanks again for all the reviews, follows, and favs! Now, without further ado, it's time for _that _conversation. A good strong brandy is recommended, though sherry will suffice for those ladies of delicate sensibilities. :)

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><p><em>Part Vl<em>

While Mary weighed the pros and cons of opening up to Matthew about her past, Matthew was also at war within himself. More than anything, he wished he could simply walk up to Mary and take her in his arms. A man could lose himself in her fathomless dark eyes. If only he could rid himself of the heavy burden of guilt and self-recrimination that still kept him from her side. Lavinia had sacrificed so much for him, and now she had nothing to show for it. It was entirely his fault. He should never have pursued her when his heart still belonged to Mary. He had been in denial about it at the time, but a part of him had always known. If only he had listened to that part of himself, swallowed his pride, and admitted that Mary was the only girl for him, he would not now be suffering under the weight of the two precious hearts he had been responsible for breaking.

For a moment, the image of Mary's perfect face, so close to his as they had danced, filled his senses, and all doubt and worry retreated under the force of his overwhelming longing and love. He recalled her sweet lavender smell, the warmth of her hand on his shoulder, the velvet of her smooth voice in his ear... _Mary. _He needed her presence like he needed oxygen. Suddenly, she became the key to solving the puzzle of emotions and concerns that kept him in torturous limbo. If he could find Mary, just be in her presence for a few moments, all would become clear. He had never been more sure of anything. Mary was his answer, his world. He needed her. He needed to find her, hold her, beg her to tell him what to do.

Standing resolutely from his place by the library window, he began searching the halls for his beloved. The stairs were always a bit challenging to negotiate, but he managed them with relative ease by leaning heavily on the railing. By the time he realized that, in his haste, he had forgotten his stick, he thought it too late to go back. Using the wall to steady himself, he traversed hall of family rooms, hoping to happen across his object.

When it was not Mary, but Lavinia, he found, Matthew felt as though he would crumble and break apart. She looked very sad, and it ate at him. When she saw him coming, she quickly schooled her delicate features into a wan smile, but he knew she was hurting. He recalled her words. He knew that she would rather accept this pain than the pain of a lifetime with someone who couldn't give her his whole heart. He understood that. He had asked something of her he, himself, had not been prepared to give.

"Matthew, I think you should speak to Mary," Lavinia spoke softly. "I just came from speaking with her. The two of you have a great deal to discuss."

"Lavinia..." he began.

"Her room is the second one on the left," Lavinia continued, gesturing to the hallway behind her.

When Matthew showed no sign that he had heard her, Lavinia gently placed a hand on his arm and admonished him.

"Go. She needs you, Matthew. From the looks of it, you need her too."

It hurt - oh how desperately it hurt! - to say those words to him, to entrust his care to another woman when she wish so desperately that it was her comfort he needed! Lavinia knew, however, that Mary's was the only presence he needed to untangle the web of thoughts that had him trapped in his current state of melancholy. She knew he would be feeling guilt, and, she flattered herself, perhaps even a touch of sorrow for the loss of their needed a tangible reminder of the reason they were letting each other go. He needed Mary. In fact, she was convinced that it was Mary he had been searching for when she had, unexpectedly, happened across his path.

"Go," she encouraged him once more. With that, she slipped past him, forcing her feet to carry her away from her heart's desire and towards her borrowed room.

* * *

><p>Mary hadn't so much as blinked an eye since Lavinia had left her to herself. In fact, she was making a concerted effort not to blink, since doing so would cause the tears already pooling in her bleary eyes to spill over onto her cheeks. Mary despised crying. Her pride revolted against such a show of weakness, even when she was completely alone. Only during her darkest moments did she shed tears. She could count them on one hand: the day she lost Matthew at the garden party, the evening she heard of his engagement to Lavinia, after witnessing his despair at the extent of his injuries. Then there had been tears of the purest joy when she retired to bed after witnessing him stand on unsteady legs for the first time in many dark months.<p>

Her darling Matthew, how he filled her every thought! She both longed for his presence and wished to postpone their inevitable meeting. Everything was changed now. Where did that leave them? She wasn't foolish enough to believe that Matthew would immediately ask for her hand so soon after his break with Lavinia. And what about Richard? She would have to break with him, as well. What if he published her story? Would Matthew even want her then?

Mary responded automatically to the soft tap on the door. She expected Anna, Edith, or, perhaps, Sybil to enter as the hinges creaked slowly open. When Matthew's drawn, but beautiful, face emerged instead, she found herself unable to contain those traitorous tears any longer.

"Oh, Mary," he breathed, the sight of her distress instantly banishing his own worries to a remote corner of his mind. He closed the door behind him, taking time to turn the lock as well, before crossing the room to kneel at her feet.

Unable to find adequate words to comfort or question her, Matthew simply rested his head in her lap, finding priceless comfort in her proximity. Mary continued to weep softly as Matthew sat motionless and silent on the floor at her feet, his golden head resting against her thigh.

For several moments they sat thus. Matthew opened his eyes to the sight of her silk-covered ankles crossed delicately in front of her. Skirt styles were becoming steadily shorter. He could just make out the swell of her perfect calves peeking out from under the fabric. Such fashions must be designed specifically to torment him. It amazed him that all the turmoil raging inside his head was insufficient to quell the intense desire such a demure vision awakened. Giving in to temptation, Matthew curled a hand around her slender calf, squeezing and kneading the firm muscle just under the edge of her skirt.

His tender touch broke something in Mary. Her tears came faster. Sobs broke free from her control and filled the silent air around them. Her fingers instantly found their way into his thick hair as she hunched over him, burying her face in the curve of his neck as she wept. Matthew desperately wished to hold her, to cradle her in his arms, and shelter her from the cruelty of the world that seemed to conspire against them at every turn. As it was, all he could do was wrap his free hand around her trim ankle, taking a moment to appreciate the way his fingers closed completely around it's delicate circumference. Tears of his own formed behind his closed lids, but he held them at bay, wishing only to be strong for Mary. She had been strong for him so many times. Now it was his turn.

"Mary?" he tentatively began when her tears slowed and her sobs turned into gentle, tremulous breaths.

"Mm?"

"Mary, I do wish you would tell me what troubles you so. Lavinia said she spoke to you. She said we had a lot to talk about. I do hope she didn't upset you."

"Oh, Matthew, of course Lavinia didn't upset me. She was kind and generous as ever. It is my own damned folly that causes me distress."

If Matthew was shocked by her rather indelicate curse, he didn't show it. Her trembling fingers had found their way under his collar, and were tickling his neck deliciously. Darling Mary, she couldn't even break down without tempting him.

Matthew lifted his head regretfully from its soft pillow, and made to rise from the floor. This was not accomplished without some difficulty. Bracing himself with one hand on the bedpost, he struggled to his feet.

The sight of Matthew's struggle immediately snapped Mary out of her melancholy. All she could feel at that moment was concern for him. She quickly stood from her place on the bed and grasped his arm to assist him.

"Matthew, where is your stick?" she reprimanded gently.

Having regained a solid upright position, Matthew smiled wanly down at Mary, and placed his hand over hers on his arm.

"Once again, you are my stick."

The mention of the previous evening brought images of all that had transpired to the forefront of both their minds, and they were forced to look away from each other as their faces turned matching shades of scarlet. Mary was unsettled by the memory. She wanted nothing more than to repeat the best parts, but the happy thoughts were soon squashed by thoughts of the great secret that still stood between them. And Lavinia! How could she even think of claiming his affections so soon after what happened!

If Mary was unnerved by the memory of their interlude, Matthew was emboldened by it. No matter the prickling of his conscience over what he had done to Lavinia, nor the wounds Mary had inflicted upon him so many years past. All that mattered was that, once the dust settled, the two of them ended up together, as they always should have been. It wouldn't be easy, nor instant, but he was determined that he would find a way.

"Mary, I want you to know that I firmly believe that Lavinia was right in her reasons for ending our engagement. My heart does belong to you. It always has, and it always will. It wouldn't have been fair of me to marry her while longing for you. I see that now. Lavinia helped me see that. It doesn't completely assuage my guilt for how I've hurt her. I should have been in enough command of my abominable pride to have admitted to myself, before I ever pursued her, that my heart wasn't whole to give. What I did to her, to both of you, was terribly selfish, and I cannot seem to be sorry enough for it.

You _must_ end things with Carlisle, Mary. He's not good for you. I hate the way he treats you like a piece of property, a trophy to look pretty on his arm and remain silent and obedient. You know I would never treat you like that. I do believe I need to take some time to mourn the end of my relationship with Lavinia, but, when the time is right, I promise you, I will not rest until I make you mine. Mary Crawley, I love you with every fiber of my being, and I swear that I _will_ make this right."

"Oh, Matthew, if only it were that simple," Mary responded quietly.

Matthew's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline.

"_Simple_? What, may I ask, is _simple_ about any of this?"

"There is still something about me, about my past, that you don't know. It is the reason I hesitated so long in accepting your proposal. I couldn't tell you because you would despise me, and I couldn't marry you without telling you."

"What about Carlisle? You accepted him quickly enough. Did you tell him? I don't understand why you ever thought you could trust him more than you could trust me!"

The hurt in Matthew's eyes cut Mary to the core.

"It's not that I didn't trust you, Matthew! I loved you far too much. I could not bear the thought of losing your love. Those months you spent courting me were the most beautiful of my life. Those are the memories I go to when I feel myself slipping into despair. Yes, I told Richard. It wasn't hard to tell him because I didn't love him. If _he_ despised me, I could bear it."

For several moments, they stood silently staring at each other. Matthew was vacillating somewhere between shock and elation. Mary had loved him then, loved him enough to dread the thought of telling him some secret from her past that she thought would make him despise her. She told Carlisle because she didn't care for him nearly as well. All these years, she had loved him. His love had not gone unrequited. It was almost too much joy to comprehend. But what was this ominous secret that had kept them apart all this time? Surely it wasn't worth the pain it had caused.

"What's more," Mary continued, "Richard has...hinted that, if I renege on our agreement or displease him in any way, he would print my story in his papers, bringing scandal and shame upon me, and upon the family."

"Mary, you must tell me, what is this secret? Whatever it is, it cannot be enough for you to marry a man who would blackmail you! Seasons pass and scandals die down, but marriage is a long, long business! Cousin Violet made quite sure I understood that."

Hanging her head in shame, Mary resumed her perch on the edge of the bed. After years of hiding, evading, hoping that Matthew never knew of her shame, she was finally going to tell him. This was the moment, the defining moment, that would send him away from her forever. The end of all hope, of all possibility. This was it.

"Do you remember Kamal Pamuk? the Turkish diplomat who died here some years ago?"

Matthew acknowledged his remembrance of the incident with a curt nod. Of course he remembered that foreign dandy Mary had flirted with and fawned over to the exclusion of all else, including him. He had never been more jealous in his life.

"You only know the official version of the story. The real story is...Mr. Pamuk died in my bed, and I had to wake Anna and Mama to help me carry him back to his room, but not before I gave him my virtue. That is why I couldn't accept your proposal. I knew it would be wrong to accept without telling you. But I'm sure you can see why I delayed as I did. After all, how in the world was I to go about approaching the subject? 'Matthew, my love, I would be honored to be your wife. By the way, I'm not a virgin?'"

Mary dared not look at him. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and awaited the onset of his anger and revulsion. The silence stretched on, however, and she made no immediate move to break it.

If Mary had looked up at Matthew's face in that moment, she would have witnessed, not disgust, but despair. Hot tears streaked unheeded down his cheeks, trickling down into the fabric of his collar. _His _Mary's innocence had been stolen by another man! It would never be his tender task to lovingly initiate her into the joys of carnal pleasures. He would never behold the wonder of discovery on her lovely face as he gave her her first passionate release. His hands would not be the first to lay claim to her many charms. What was worse, was the thought that he wasn't the first to touch her heart. Perhaps Pamuk had been there before him, too.

Unable to bear the loaded silence any longer, Mary was the first to speak. There was a note of desperation in her voice as she plead with him. Still, there was an undercurrent of strength of both mind and will that was so _Mary_ to him. He had always so admired her courage. Even now, as she faced her worst fear, she was his rock.

"Say something, even if it is only 'goodbye.'"

Matthew wasn't sure what to say. His mind hadn't absorbed the blow fully yet. All he knew for certain was that he didn't want to say 'goodbye.'

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><p>Will they reach a resolution? Will Mary find the courage to break with RC? Find out next time!<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Alright, I won't torture you with the rest of the Kamal Pumuk conversation. Just assume it continues much as it did in the Christmas Special. Now, let's check in with Lavinia, and see how she's faring.

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><p><em>Part Vll<em>

Lavinia's mind was blank as she folded piece after piece of clothing and stowed each carefully in her trunk. Crawley House was quiet, and all but deserted. She had requested that Branson drive her back before Matthew and Isobel, giving her some much-needed time alone. To keep herself busy, she had decided to begin packing her things for the journey home, which she planned to undertake as soon as she was sure Lady Grantham was out of danger, and everything was settled back at the Abbey. It would probably be Saturday, the day that would have been her wedding day, on which she would travel home to London.

Oh, how she longed for the comfort of her father's arms! She had telephoned him before leaving the Abbey, explaining, briefly, the reasons she had broken off the engagement. Her father was, naturally, quite angry with Matthew for his perceived inconstancy, but Lavinia was firm in her defense of Matthew's honor. He had, after all, tried to do the right thing. In the end, Mr. Swire reluctantly accepted her reasoning, and assured her of his desire to have her home as soon as possible.

The decision had been so easy to make, she had, thus far, experienced relatively little heartache. She supposed it was only that the reality that she would never by Matthew's wife hadn't fully set in yet. Her conversations with Isobel, Matthew, and Mary had been easier than she would have thought. In a way, she felt numb inside, as though she were a puppet being controlled by an outside force, but feeling nothing about any of it. Now that she was alone, the grief began to encroach around the edges of her heart, threatening to pounce at any moment and shatter her resolve. She longed to give in to it, to surrender to her sorrow, and have a good, long cry. She was sure she would feel so much better after she finally allowed herself to cry. But, until she was safely back home with her dear father's loving embrace to support her, she knew she had to be strong, especially for Matthew's sake. She needed him to be happy, more than anything. Mary would make him happy, and, for the time being, she would focus her energy on making sure that things ended as they should.

Reaching, once again, into the wardrobe, she pulled out the pretty, pale pink nightgown she had selected for her wedding night. She remembered the shop clerk pushing all manner of tiny, flimsy, and transparent garments at her, none of which she would feel in any way comfortable wearing. In the end, she had selected something pretty, but relatively modest. In truth, she had been terribly nervous about what would transpire on her wedding night. Having been many years without a mother in her life, she had known almost nothing of what happened in the marriage bed until Isobel had taken it upon herself to enlighten her. If she were to be quite honest, the whole business sounded messy and unpleasant, and it probably would have been a horribly awkward experience for both herself and Matthew.

_Well, at least that's one less thing to worry about._

Her wedding dress was the next article to find its place in her travel trunk. She sighed wistfully as she fingered the fine lace and intricate beading across the bodice. It was a lovely dress, the loveliest she had ever owned, and now she would never wear it. Oh, she was sure she would marry someone, someday. This dress, however, was chosen with Matthew in mind. It wouldn't be right to wear it when she, one day, married the man she was fated to be joined with. She resolved to keep her ears open for any mention of a hopeful bride who might be in need of such a gown. Someone should wear it, even if it wasn't to be her.

Lavinia spent the remainder of the evening packing away her small collection of belongings that had been only recently unpacked, back when she thought her stay at Crawley House would be permanent. She had just finished the last of her packing and settled in to try to read for a spell when she heard the front door open and shut, signaling the return of Matthew and Isobel. Deciding it would be rude not to go down and enquire after the inhabitants of the Abbey, she rose and made her way down stairs.

Isobel greeted her cheerfully as ever, and quickly excused herself. The strain of the day had weighted heavily upon her, and she wished to retire directly. After Isobel had disappeared up the stairs, Lavinia allowed her eyes to rest on Matthew. Her heart broke to see the strain on his dear face. There was a distant, haunted look in his eyes that she only remembered seeing when he was back in the hospital. Something was troubling him deeply, she was certain.

"Matthew, would you come into the sitting room with me for a while?" she asked.

"Of course," he answered woodenly.

Once ensconced across from each other in the dim light of a single lamp, Lavinia began to ask after the inhabitants of the great house.

"How was Lady Grantham faring when you left?"

"She's on the mend," he answered with a small smile.

"I'm pleased to hear it," Lavinia responded. Indeed, she was pleased. Lady Grantham had been very kind to her, and she was glad to hear of her recovery.

"And Mary? Did you speak with her?"

Matthew was silent for several moments as he worried his stick distractedly with his fingers. Their conversation had been exhaustingly emotional. Her revelation had been indescribably painful for him, though he was resolved not to think the less of her for it. Perhaps all he needed was time to become accustomed to the idea, and all would, soon, be well. It seemed a silly thing to think after all that had transpired, but he desperately clung to the hope that things would turn out for the best, for all involved. Matthew had become so caught up in his musings, that he almost forgot that Lavinia was awaiting his answer.

"I did."

"And?" Lavinia pressed.

Matthew cleared his throat to buy himself a moment in which to compose his thoughts before replying.

"Well, she seemed...rather troubled, but I'm sure with time...she..."

"Matthew, I do wish you would be direct with me. Did the two of you...discuss the future?"

Dropping his head into his hands, Matthew resolved to be honest with Lavinia, however difficult it may be. She deserved that much from him.

"Some," he answered, "but nothing has been decided. I could never be so callous towards you as to propose to another woman mere hours after the end of our engagement."

"I will thank you for that," Lavinia said. "It is considerate of you to want to spare my feelings, though you know you have my blessing where Mary is concerned."

"Yes. You are...too kind, too dear, to care so much about me...about us...after what I put you through."

Noticing Lavinia's knowing smile, Matthew's eyebrows rose.

"What?" he asked.

"You have already started referring to the two of you as 'us.' I suppose that's a good sign."

Matthew made no reply, and both remained silent for several moments.

"Did she tell you about...the reason she put off accepting your proposal?" Lavinia asked hesitantly.

Matthew's pained sigh would have been answer enough.

"Yes, she did."

"And, how did you respond?"

Matthew laughed quietly, and a bit hysterically, for a moment before answering.

"Well, I began by crying like a child, then peppered her with inane questions, before finally assuring her that I could never despise her for it, as she feared I would. She seemed shocked that I had taken it as well as I had, but, the truth is, I'm still not sure exactly how I feel about it. The shock is still too fresh."

"Matthew, have you...have you ever been with a woman before?"

Matthew was, understandably, shocked by Lavinia's direct question. He found himself unable to look her in the eye for several moments. Lavinia found herself studying the carpet, as well. Her face was burning with embarrassment from what she had just asked, but she hoped her purpose would be served in helping Matthew come to a conclusion about Mary.

"Yes," he finally answered, almost too low for her to hear. "But it was many, many years ago, and I felt terribly guilty, once I came to my senses."

"Then how is Mary's situation any different? What she did was years ago, and she regrets it deeply. I fail to see how you could feel so deeply affected by the thought of her with another man when you, yourself, cannot claim innocence."

Nodding his head in reluctant agreement, Matthew had to concede Lavinia's point, though his heart still ached at the thought of Mary in another's arms.

"You're right, of course. Love has a way of impeding rational thought. It's been proven many times over the years since Mary came into my life."

Lavinia smiled sadly, returning her eyes to her hands as they twisted together in her lap.

"So you admit it then?" she asked. "You admit that you love Mary? I mean, I've known for a long time, you've just never said it."

The silence stretched on for several moments as Lavinia fought for composure, and Matthew allowed guilt to consume his thoughts yet again.

"It's alright to admit it," Lavinia continued. "It would make it easier for me...to be sure I've done the right thing."

"Lavinia," Matthew interrupted, reaching across the space between them to cover her hands with one of his. "I already told Mary that I would do whatever was necessary to make things work between the two of us. I _do_ love Mary, I do. But please, Lavinia, don't think that that means I don't love you, or that I won't truly grieve the loss of your friendship and company. It may have been wrong of me to pursue you when so much of my heart belonged to another, but there is a part of me that will never regret having known you. How could I? Your are the sweetest, kindest, most generous person I have ever know, and I will miss you. I will miss you very much. Part of me wants to beg you to reconsider your decision, even now, but I know it wouldn't be right. I love you, but I'm _in love_ with Mary. You deserve the chance to find someone in whose heart you will be first, and only."

By the time Matthew finished his speech, Lavinia had allowed a lone tear to escape and make its way down her cheek. He was right. It hurt desperately, and she would mourn the loss of what they had shared these past years. But what he had with Mary was something even more, deeper, than she could even comprehend at present. Perhaps she would someday, when the right man came along. Believing in that was the only thing that kept her from falling to pieces right then and there. As much as it hurt, she would never regret knowing, and loving, Matthew. How could she when he was so gracious and so wonderful? Mary was a lucky woman to have captured the heart of such a man.

"I'm tired," Lavinia sighed a moment later. "I think I'll retire now."

"Of course."

Both stood, and Lavinia made her way, slowly, towards the door.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she turned back suddenly and said. "What about Sir Richard?"

"Oh, yes, him," Matthew muttered, turning to gaze out the window, though all he could see was the faint glow of the street lamp. "Mary and I did not discuss...what was to be done about him. She fears that, if she breaks the engagement, he will publish her story. He may, but I don't think that should stop her from throwing him over, if it's what she wants."

"I agree. I cannot imagine that anybody would care about something that happened so many years ago, what with the war having turned everybody's lives upside down for the past four years."

"Quite right," Matthew agreed. "I'm sure talk would die down quickly, even if he does publish."

"You must speak with her about it tomorrow. It can only get worse, the longer she leads him on."

"Right. I will," Matthew nodded, turning to face Lavinia again.

"I don't leave until Saturday morning, so I have tomorrow to speak with her again myself, if needs be," Lavinia added. "There are things I know about Sir Richard that I don't think Mary knows. It may help her to know she isn't the first young woman the scoundrel has blackmailed. I dare say, she won't be the last. He seems to make quite the habit of it."

"I'm sure that would be helpful. Thank you."

"Well, goodnight, then," Lavinia concluded with a small smile.

"Yes. Goodnight, Lavinia," Matthew responded.

Left on his own, Matthew strolled directly to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a brandy, which he downed in one long pull. The dull burn of the alcohol mirrored the ache in his chest. He felt horrible for the way he had handled the entire situation. Lavinia, Mary...everything. He could only hope that, from that moment onward, he would, somehow, begin make it right.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Next part done already! Enjoy!

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><p><em>Part Vlll<em>

As Mary opened her eyes to the gentle light of the early morning sun, she pondered the truth in the cliche her mother always liked to throw at her, about everything looking better after a good night's sleep. This morning did look brighter than the last, for the dark cloud that was her shameful secret cast its gloomy shadow a bit less heavily now that Matthew knew. He knew, and he didn't despise her for it. He may no longer love her in a passionate sense, may no longer wish to make her his wife, but he didn't _despise_ her, as she had feared. She may have lost his love, but she wouldn't lose his friendship, and, for that, she would be exceedingly grateful. That was as good a reason as any to smile, to get out of bed early, and go out and breathe the fresh, morning air.

Despite her uncommonly cheerful mood, Mary knew her troubles were far from over. She still had to decide what to do about Richard. Matthew had encouraged her, had nearly begged, her to break things off with him, no matter what happened afterwards. It was clear that Matthew held an intense dislike of her fiance, and she was beginning to understand why. If she had to hear, "that's not the way things will be done at Haxby," one more time...

_No, _chided herself. _Only happy thoughts this morning. _

Richard did not feature in any of those thoughts. In fact, he was quite put out of her mind for the time being.

The grounds were beautiful in the early morning. Being want to rise rather late in general, Mary had never truly appreciated the calm loveliness of the world when the dew still shimmered on the grass and the rays of sunlight slanted through the leaves, casting ornate patterns over the ground. Mary made her way to her favorite bench, seating herself comfortably despite its dampness.

Her thoughts drifted, as they always inevitably did, to Matthew. The bench on which she sat had witnessed a great many moments that passed between herself and Matthew - some tender, and some bitter. Of all that her mind might have conjured - Matthew's harsh rejection at the garden party; Matthew sitting beside her in a wheelchair, quashing her courage with his bitterness as she tried to find a way to tell him she wished for nothing more than to spend her life by his side; Matthew pulling her onto his lap, kissing and nipping playfully at her neck between whispered entreaties for her to consent to be his wife - the memory foremost in her thoughts was a relatively tame one, but one that held great meaning for her.

She had only just begun to, gradually, recognize her growing attraction and affection for Matthew when he had appeared before her one fine afternoon, smiling and looking endearingly boyish and awkward, as he often had back in the early years of their acquaintance. He made a very weak excuse about looking for her father, but Mary was sure Carson knew very well that her father was in the library. She desperately wanted to believe that he had purposely sought her out. The thought made her heart race and her breath come more quickly. When he sat next to her on the bench, she made no move to scoot towards the opposite end to give him more space. If anything, she wished she could move closer. She scarcely remembered what they spoke of, but Matthew had uttered one phrase that would keep her awake for many nights afterwards.

"_...we should see more of each other." _

He had been joking, somehow, about the rather volatile nature of their relationship, but all she remembered was the hopeful intensity in his eyes as he spoke. For days after, she would replay that moment in her head, debating within herself about whether or not she had merely imagined his double meaning.

Mary shook her head and smiled wistfully to think of the golden opportunity that had been placed before her at that moment, and at so many others. If she could only have realized the preciousness of that time while she had it, things could have been so different. Now, Lavinia had released him. He was free once again. What might she do now, this time, to ensure that she didn't look back on this moment, this opportunity, with longing and regret?

She experienced a startling moment of deja vu when Matthew suddenly appeared beside her, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. How different he appeared now than he had all those years ago, yet how much the same! A slight limp and a walking stick had replaced the youthful spring in his step. His handsome face, once alight with youthful enthusiasm and joie de vivre, appeared drawn and tired. It had probably been quite some time since he'd slept well. There were good changes, too. His body had become leaner, harder. His shoulders were broader, and his waist smaller. The most important difference, Mary decided, was that she loved him so completely now that none of it mattered one jot. He would always be her Matthew whether he were being pushed about in a wheelchair, leaning heavily on a walking stick, or flying down the road on that ridiculous bicycle of his.

Mary smiled welcomingly as he seated himself next to her on the bench. They exchanged the usual pleasantries, speaking for a few moments about the fineness of the morning and the state of everyone's health. Eventually, though, the elephant in the proverbial room would have to be acknowledged.

"I must admit, I'm surprised to see you," Mary said.

"Why should you be surprised to see me? I am not the one who languishes in bed until the morning is practically over."

Mary smiled at his attempt at lightheartedness, but couldn't reciprocate it.

"You know very well what I mean, Matthew."

"You cannot have thought that I would avoid you after last night."

"I must admit, the thought did cross my mind. I can't see why you wouldn't avoid me. _I_ would avoid me, if I could."

"Mary," Matthew spoke softly, reaching to grasp her hand in his. He hated to hear her speak so poorly of herself. If only he felt at liberty to tell her all that was in his heart whenever he thought about her! "I must admit, the thought crossed my mind, as well. But, I decided not to avoid you. Instead, I've come to tell you a story."

"Oh?" Mary angled her body towards him. "What story is that?"

"It is a tale of a naive young man who found himself overcome with lust and a need for excitement, and made a mistake he regretted very deeply. Sound in any way familiar?"

"Oh, Matthew, you don't have to..."

"I want to, Mary," he interrupted. "I've actually never told anybody before."

Mary's gaze fixed on their joined hands as they rested in her lap. Matthew took her silence as leave to begin.

"I was nineteen, and in my first year at university. She was a beautiful, widowed librarian, ten years my senior. I studied in the library regularly. I noticed her. She noticed me. I began to think up ridiculous excuses to ask for her assistance. We flirted, harmlessly at first. Of course, I was terribly flattered to receive the notice of an older woman. One day, with a subtile smirk and a not-so-subtile caress of my backside, she slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand. On it was an address, day, and time. Against the prodding of my conscience, I went. And, also against the prodding of my conscience, I went back several more times over the next two or three months.

Then, one day, she stopped showing up for work at the library. I was concerned, so I went to her rooms, uninvited, to check on her. She said she had been ill, and discovered that she was with child."

As he had anticipated, Mary gasped in shock at the possible implications. He squeezed her hand, encouragingly, before continuing.

"My initial response was to ask how that could happen when we'd been so careful. She only laughed, and asked, mockingly, if I really thought I was the only one."

He paused for a moment to laugh ruefully at his own youthful stupidity.

"The sad truth is, I, in my ignorance, did think I had been the only one. I fancied myself in love, though I now know that it was nothing of the kind. Turns out, she had been with several of my classmates. The one she, rather conveniently, slipped up with and ended up carrying his child, was a future baronet from a very wealthy family. He acknowledged the child before he knew of her other liaisons, and, by the time he found out, it was too late. He was pushed into a marriage with her. I cannot imagine either of them were very happy."

"I would imagine not," Mary agreed, weakly.

"After that dreadful experience, I swore to myself that I would wait for my future wife. And I have, though I can't say it wasn't difficult at times. I suppose there is a reason the church cautions so strongly against this kind of thing. You and I have both been first hand witnesses of the heartache and turmoil that almost inevitably results from such lapses in control."

Mary nodded mutely, staring straight ahead. She was awed by his graciousness, that he would compare his situation to hers. She knew that it was practically acceptable for young men to engage in such behavior, but it was an unforgivable transgression for a woman. He was being very generous towards her, indeed.

"Mary, I would be a fool and a hypocrite were I to allow what happened in your past to affect my feelings for you. I won't deny, however, that I am extremely jealous. If Pamuk weren't already dead, I would kill him."

Matthew finally forced himself to look at Mary, to try to gauge her reaction. She was trying to smile at his ridiculous comment, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. He sought to lighten her mood with humor.

"Seriously, Mary, if you were truly in need of some excitement, you could have come to me. I would have been vastly happy to oblige, I assure you."

It worked. Mary's serious mood dissolved into fits of convulsive laughter. There was, perhaps, more than a hint of hysteria in her amusement, but, on the whole, she was feeling much better about the situation.

"Oh, but, Matthew, you said you promised to wait for your future wife," she teased back.

Suddenly serious, Matthew decided to be daring.

"Mary, from the first moment I saw you, I imagined you as my wife. You walked into our little parlor, dazzling me with your loveliness, and, suddenly, the idea of having _you_ pushed at me was something to be desired, rather than scoffed at."

"Oh, Matthew," Mary whispered, unable to find sufficient words to respond to his tender revelation. Instead of speaking, she simply raised the hand she held to her lips for several lingering kisses. She hoped to convey every tender sentiment she had experienced, but never given voice to, in the past eight years in those kisses. She knew it wasn't the time to say or do more, but she felt his answer and promise in the gentle pressure of his hand.

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><p>It's a bit short, but seemed perfect as it was. I know Matthew promised to speak with Mary about Sir Richard, but I hated to (to quote Violet) "muddy the pool" by bringing him into the picture! Just assume that, like so much of the action in the series, they discuss him off camera.<p>

Next time: Mary confronts Sir Richard, and Lavinia says goodbye, for now.


	9. Chapter 9

_Part lX_

After Matthew's attention had been commandeered by her father, who wanted his help with some estate matter or other, Mary found herself occupied until well into the afternoon hours with the task of avoiding Sir Richard. With Matthew's help, she had made up her mind to release him, once and for all. She knew the repercussions would be difficult to bear, for a time, but spending every afternoon for the remainder of her days engaged in similar evasive maneuvers was surely much worse. She had, also at Matthew's insistence, spoken to her father about the Pamuk incident, and had been pleasantly surprised by how well he had taken it, even adding his encouragement to Matthew's argument that she must break things off with Richard as soon as possible.

Her most recent dodge had taken her into the rose garden, which smelled delightfully fragrant from the hundreds of colorful blooms. Carson, who had been sworn to feigned ignorance of Mary's whereabouts where Sir Richard was concerned, was under no such obligation to hide Mary's location from Lavinia. Mary was actually quite happy to see Lavinia, and she greeted her warmly.

"Mary, I came to see how you're doing with all this," Lavinia said. "I know the strain of having to discuss a painful part of your past with two people in one night must have taken its toll."

"You can make that three people, if you count this morning," Mary responded. "I told my father."

"How did he take it?" Lavinia asked.

"Very well, surprisingly. I'm sure the fact that Matthew had decided to stand by me anyway helped. Both men are determined that I should break with my fiance."

"Are you going to?"

"Yes, I think so. Your courage and strength shall be my example, though I doubt Richard will take it as well as Matthew did. I discussed the timing with my father and Matthew, and they think I should do it after supper tonight. I look forward to being free of him, but I don't relish the thought of the scene he will surely make."

"You're doing the right thing, Mary. All will turn out for the best." Lavinia encouraged.

"We'll see. If he publishes my story in his newspapers, I may have to escape to America for a while."

"Sir Richard is more concerned with money than anything else. Your story is such old news, and that kind of gossip carries so much less weight now than it did before the war, that I'm sure he will see nothing to gain by publishing it. Even if he does, nobody whose opinion can possibly matter would pay any attention to it."

"I do hope you're right, though I find it hard to be so optimistic as you and Matthew are."

"Just promise me, Mary, that you won't run away to America. Or, if you do, take Matthew with you. It would break his heart if you left."

"And my own," Mary admitted under her breath. "No, I suppose I must be brave and face the music. At least Matthew and my father made it clear that my family would all stand by me, should the worst happen."

"As will I, Mary. I promise I will always defend your integrity against any vicious gossip I may happen to hear."

Mary turned and gazed at Lavinia with open wonder.

"You would really do that for me? Me, the woman who tempted your fiance away from you? who is the cause of your ruined hopes? Why would you ever feel the need to defend me? I deserve your censure, not your friendship."

"Mary," Lavinia began, placing a hand comfortingly on Mary's arm, "I said it before, and I will say it again. Nobody gets to choose who they fall in love with. I don't hold what happened against you or Matthew. It just happened. The only way forward is to see that things take the right course from now on."

Mary nodded mutely, amazed by the generosity and integrity of her new friend. She still wondered that Matthew should care for her at all when he had such a paragon of virtue and kindness within his reach. She would have to work harder to deserve him.

"It has occurred to me," Lavinia spoke again, "that you, Matthew, and Isobel are probably the only ones who know that the wedding isn't to be rescheduled. Have you told anyone else?"

"No. I don't believe anyone else knows." Mary answered.

"In that case, I must speak with Matthew about making the official announcement tonight during dinner. I leave for London tomorrow morning, so I must say my goodbyes."

"I'm sure we will all be sorry to see you go," Mary said genuinely. "I know I speak for my entire family when I say we have become quite fond of you, myself especially. I believe if Matthew had brought home any other woman, I would have scratched her eyes out and torn her hair from its roots. You were so sweet, I couldn't even bring myself to snub you."

"Oh, Mary, you jest!" Lavinia laughed, seeing Mary's mischievous grin.

Lavinia boldly looped her arm through Mary's, and the two young women walked and talked in friendly companionship until the approach of Sir Richard drove them back towards the house.

That evening, Mary awaited the arrival of the party from Crawley House with unaccustomed eagerness. She couldn't wait to see Matthew. The knowledge that now she was privileged to look on him, once again, with the eyes of a hopeful lover, was enlivening. Now, instead of looking on encounters with Lavinia with trepidation, she anticipated the meeting. She was free to befriend the kind young lady without any jealousy or resentment constantly nagging at her.

She was waiting in the foyer when Carson let them in. Her eyes were instantly drawn to Matthew. He cut such a fine figure in his dinner suit, and now she felt no guilt at all ogling him shamelessly. His gaze soon met hers, and she shivered as his eyes wandered slowly over her . Apparently, he had given himself the same liberty.

Mary would dearly have loved to walk into the dining room on Matthew's arm, but, thankfully, for the last time, she had to accept Sir Richard's arm instead. She was also forced to sit beside Sir Richard, though she was grateful to have Lavinia seated on her other side. She smiled openly at her friend, hoping to engage her in conversation, allowing her to ignore Sir Richard.

The courses came and went, and Mary had managed to speak only three words total to her soon-to-be ex-fiance. Lavinia was happy to speak of the new fashions and the quality of the food, but, as the desert was served, Mary began to sense her companion's increasing distraction. Matthew waited until everyone's desert plate was nearly clean before rising to address the room.

"If I may have everybody's attention, I have an announcement to make," he began, his voice unsteady. "Lavinia and I...that is, we have decided that it would be in both of out best interests...we no longer..."

"What Matthew is trying to say is," Lavinia cut in, " that the forced delay in our wedding plans has given us time to think seriously about what we truly want. We decided that, while we do care for each other and enjoy each other's company, we're not in love with each other, and we both want more in a marriage than that. So, we've decided to call the wedding off permanently."

For several moments after Lavinia finished her speech, there was complete silence at the table, followed by several voices speaking animatedly at once. Mary and Isobel were the only ones to remain composed, having been forewarned of the news. Matthew and Lavinia were instantly peppered with questions from every side of the room. The Dowager Countess looked supremely smug, and expressed her pleasure that Matthew had finally come to his senses. Recalling what Matthew had told her about her grandmother's interference, Mary was sure the great lady gave herself full credit for the development.

Edith looked positively angry, and, though nobody was paying her any heed whatsoever, was expressing her consternation as to why, in heaven's name, they had called off the wedding. Of course, she thought them a brilliant match, and looked pointedly at Mary while saying so. Lord Grantham was tactfully expressing his surprise, and assuring Matthew that he would take the news to the still-recovering Countess himself later that evening. The room went silent as Sybil's voice rose above the din.

"Well, I think it's splendid that Lavinia was able to admit what was truly in her heart, despite what society might think. It was a very brave move. Good for her."

"Thank you, Sybil," Lord Grantham responded dryly.

When Mary finally braved a glance at Sir Richard, she was rather alarmed by his appearance. He seemed positively livid. His face was flushed, the bluish vein at his temple throbbing alarmingly. His eyes seemed to shoot daggers as his glance flitted back and forth between Mary and Matthew. More than ever before, Mary began to dread the necessity of confronting Sir Richard about ending their understanding.

When the ladies went through to the drawing room, Lavinia immediately went to Mary's side, hoping that her presence would be a comfort. She, too, had seen Sir Richard's reaction to the news, and was sure Mary would need all her courage for what she was to do in only a short time. Mary was grateful for Lavinia's silent support, though dread still quickened her heart. The conversation focused mainly on Lavinia's new plans for her future, so Mary's preoccupation went largely unnoticed. As was often the case, the Dowager Countess noticed what the others did not, and believed she had a fairly accurate notion of the reason for Mary's reticence.

The entrance of the gentlemen came too soon for Mary's liking, though Matthew's presence couldn't help but ease her discomfort. He gave her an encouraging smile, before seating himself beside her grandmother.

"Cousin Violet, I hope you're well this evening," he offered politely.

With a firm grip on his sleeve, the Dowager Countess pulled Matthew closer so that she could whisper in his ear, much to his surprise.

"Is Mary thinking of doing what I think she is thinking of doing for the reason I think she is doing it?"

Matthew's befuddled stare caused the older lady to huff impatiently and denounce all men as slow and entirely useless.

To Mary's dismay, Sir Richard took her, rather roughly, by the elbow, and pulled her into a corner where they could speak in semi-privacy. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, but the venom behind his deceptively-calm tone chilled Mary to the bone.

"Mary, I believe you've kept me waiting long enough. I really must insist that we set a date for our marriage."

Knowing the time was now upon her, Mary sought to avoid making a scene in front of her family by remaining calm until she could remove him from the drawing room.

"Richard, perhaps we could find a more private place in which to discuss this. The library, perhaps?"

"I wish to discuss it now," he shot back.

"_I_ wish to discuss it _privately_," Mary insisted.

Sir Richard's grip on her arm became bruising as he leaned dangerously close, hissing his whispered words uncomfortably in her ear.

"Do not forget what you owe me, Mary. We had a deal. If you back out on your end of our little bargain, then I will as well. If you think to swoop in and take advantage of Mr. Crawley's sudden freedom, I would advise you to reconsider. I will see to it that he finds out about your filthy secret, he and all your family, all your friends. You will be abandoned and alone in the world. I swear, Mary, I will not hesitate to destroy you. Now, I will ask you once more, will you now consent to fix a date for our marriage?"

To his surprise, Mary only laughed openly at his threats.

"Oh, Richard, you don't wield the power over me that you think you do. Matthew, my father, my mother, Lavinia, my Aunt Rosamond - they all know about my past, and they have all promised to stand by me and accept me despite it. There is no doubt in my mind that the rest would follow suit. So, no, I will not consent to set a date for our marriage, for I have no desire to marry you."

"Headstrong, foolish woman! How dare you speak like that to me!"

With that, Sir Richard shook Mary roughly be the arm he was still holding, causing her to drop the crystal wine glass she held. It hit the floor and shattered into hundreds of pieces, calling the attention of all in the room to the heated argument taking place in the back corner. Matthew and Lavinia, who had both been attending the entire conversation from the start, instantly rose and made their way to Mary's side.

"Is there a problem, Sir Richard?" Lavinia asked, indignation evident in her tone.

Gently taking Mary's other arm, Lavinia tried to pull the stunned young woman away from her angry former suitor, but Sir Richard only tightened his grip, causing Mary to wince in pain. This jolted Matthew into action.

"Carlisle, take your filthy hands off her," he hissed, voice deep and dangerous.

"And what if I don't?" a furious Sir Richard shot back, shaking Mary again.

Allowing his stick to drop uselessly onto the floor, Matthew grasped Sir Richard's lapels, flinging him forcefully away from Mary. There was a collective gasp from all the ladies in the room as Matthew's fist connected with Sir Richard's jaw. The older man staggered back from the force of the blow, but quickly regained his balance and countered with a blow that hit Matthew squarely in the gut, doubling him over. The next second, both men were on the floor, each throwing the occasional punch in between heated curses hardly suited to the number of feminine ears in the room. Lord Grantham quickly ran to break up the fight, trying first to pull Matthew off of Sir Richard, who was on his back, with limited success. It took several tries before the enraged gentlemen broke apart, each quite red in the face, disheveled, and out of breath.

For the moment, all eyes were on Sir Richard, who was now having words with Lord Grantham regarding Mary's ungratefulness and the repercussion that were to follow. Mary was the first one to notice Matthew's pained expression, as he sank to his knees on the carpet, one hand gripping his lower back.

"Matthew!" she cried, as she rushed to kneel beside him. "Are you alright? What can I do?"

Frantically, she placed her hands on his shoulders to offer him support, which he readily accepted. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against her bare shoulder, focusing on breathing in her sweet floral scent until the pain subsided to a bearable level. In a strained voice, he asked her for a brandy.

"Of course, darling, or course. Let's just get you over to the sofa."

Matthew smiled indulgently at the endearment she had let slip. She was fussing over him now more than she had when he had been in true danger, and he couldn't say he wasn't enjoying it. It was certainly a pleasant distraction from the shooting pain in his lower back.

Lord Grantham and Isobel quickly moved to assist Matthew to his feet, helping him cross the room to recline on the sofa. Mary was immediately at his side, brandy in hand. She smoothed his mussed hair back from his forehead as she helped him drink it. When he was finished, she enveloped his hand in both of hers, stroking his palm gently with trembling fingers. All thought of Sir Richard or her possible disgrace fled before her concern for Matthew's health. If he suffered a setback due to Sir Richard's stubborn cruelty, she decided she may have to strike the blackguard herself, perhaps with her riding crop.

Sensing the deep disturbance of her sensibilities, Matthew smiled encouragingly, and whispered so softly that only Mary could hear.

"Thank you, my dearest. I'm so glad you're free of him."

"As am I," Mary responded, feeling better as Matthew seemed to relax.

Lavinia had watched the scene unfold before her in a somewhat dazed state. She had, reluctantly, allowed Mary to assist Matthew without interference, no matter how desperately everything in her wished to go to him. She reminded herself that she no longer had the right. Mary was free now. She and Matthew belonged to each other. It was good to see Mary's concern for him, Lavinia reminded herself. She was leaving him in good hands.

Distracted as they were with each other, Mary and Matthew didn't see Sir Richard leave the room, escorted by Carson and Thomas, one on each side. He was to be driven, forthwith, to the inn where he would remain until he could return to London on the morning train. The Dowager Countess smiled triumphantly behind her wine glass. It seemed that the world was right, at last.

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><p>Well, folks, the end is almost upon us. Just one more part after this to tie up loose ends. I'm on vacation for the next four days, so I have ample time to work on the final part. It should be up within a couple days. Thanks for reading!<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Well, here it is, guys - the final installment! Ten parts exactly. Couldn't have tied that up neater if I'd planned it that way. :)

Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and followed my story! I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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><p><em>Part X<em>

Saturday morning dawned sunny and warm. Lavinia's heart was torn between sadness and hope. She was closing one chapter of her life and transitioning into a new one. What this new chapter would bring, she couldn't know, but she dearly hoped that love was still in the stars for her. More immediately, she would see her father in only a few hours' time, and would finally be able to let it all go and allow herself to mourn her loss.

Her ticket was for the seven o'clock train, so there would be no time to visit Downton Abbey for final goodbyes. She had already said her goodbyes the previous evening, though the commotion caused by Matthew's scuffle with Sir Richard had left everyone a bit dazed. The entire party had been immensely relieved that Matthew's pain had passed after only a few minutes, and he was soon able to walk as normally as he had before the fight. No one had been more relieved than Mary, who had been nearly in tears with worry.

Lavinia glanced around her room one final time to make sure she had everything before collecting her valise, hat, and gloves and heading downstairs. Matthew was waiting for her at the bottom, a sad smile on his face. No matter how right or how necessary this separation was, it was difficult for both of them to face. They may have been more friends than lovers, but they would still miss each other's presence a great deal. Lavinia was glad that Matthew would have Mary to help him through his grief. It was clear to her that Mary was his friend as well as his beloved, and she was happy that he had her.

Silently, Matthew held out his hand to take her valise, which he carried out the front door and handed to Branson, who loaded it in the car where her trunk was already stowed. Isobel soon appeared, and pulled Lavinia into a firm embrace, bidding her a fond goodbye and wishing her all the best for her future. The two women exchanged promises to write, before saying their final, tearful goodbyes. Before she knew it, Lavinia was seated in the car across from a silently brooding Matthew, and on her way to the station.

Both Matthew and Lavinia brightened at the sight of Mary's smiling face awaiting their arrival at the station. Without hesitation, the two women embraced warmly, promising to write to each other faithfully and assuring each other that they would meet again. With a sly glance at Matthew over Lavinia's shoulder, Mary lowered her voice to whisper secretly in Lavinia's ear.

"I promise to invite you to the wedding. Lavinia, I can't thank you enough - for Matthew, for the hope I now have for my future happiness...everything."

"I could never have parted with him to anyone less worthy.* I mean it, Mary." Lavinia whispered feelingly back.

Mary stubbornly blinked back the tears that threatened to form. Mustering her courage, she smiled brightly at her new friend, though she was terribly sorry to see her go. Drawing back at last, Mary turned her back and walked several feet away, giving Matthew and Lavinia a chance to say their goodbyes in semi-privacy.

"Well, I suppose this is it, then," Matthew began, reaching for Lavinia's hands, which she readily placed in his.

"Yes, it is," she agreed, trying desperately to keep her voice steady. "I'll miss you, and Mary, very much. You two take care of each other, alright?"

Matthew nodded, and pulled Lavinia closer to brush his lips lightly across her cheek. Turning her face before he could pull back, she returned the gesture with slightly more pressure, savoring this last affectionate contact before relinquishing him to Mary's care for good. Before anything more could be said between them, the conductor's voice called for "all aboard," and Matthew walked silently beside Lavinia as she crossed the platform towards her car. Suddenly afraid for her composure, Lavinia boarded the train quickly without sparing another glance back at Matthew. She was sure, if she did, her courage would fail her, and she would find herself unable to leave him.

Woodenly, automatically, she found her assigned seat. When Matthew's worried face appeared beside her window, she pulled it open quickly.

"By happy," she called out to him over the roar of the engine. "It's all I want." **

With that, the train began to move, and soon Matthew was obscured from her sight by thick puffs of smoke.

Wiping her eyes with her gloved fingers to clear away the few stray tears that had managed to escape her control, Lavinia became aware the she was being watched. She looked around the car and directly into the eyes of Sir Richard Carlisle, who was watching her with an amused smirk.

"Ever the little martyr, Miss Swire? How very noble of you," he addressed her from across the isle.

"I meant what I said, Sir Richard. I truly want them to be happy. If you have a decent bone in your body, you will leave them be. Mary was wrong to lead you on as she did, but two wrongs don't make a right. This is your chance to be the bigger person, to do the decent thing."

Sir Richard merely shrugged his shoulders dismissively, and replied, "I'm a business man, Miss Swire. _Lady_ Mary's story is old news, and hardly what sells papers nowadays. If the woman had any sense at all, she would have known that a long time ago."

In no humor to dignify that insinuation with a reply, Lavinia turned her attention away from Sir Richard to watch the countryside fly by from her window.

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><p>True to his word, Matthew did genuinely mourn the loss of Lavinia's companionship, though it wasn't enough to keep him away from Mary entirely. He would often walk to the Abbey to find her strolling the grounds or reading on her favorite bench, always ready to greet him cheerfully with a stunning smile. For several months, they spoke no more about love or marriage, nor did they express their affection physically, as they had during their first courtship. To their mutual delight, their attraction and affection deepened and matured into a strong, unshakable bond of friendship and camaraderie that went beyond anything either had ever experienced. It was this invaluable time that would form the foundation for the deep, abiding love they would share throughout their long and successful marriage.<p>

It took over half a year, but eventually Matthew's burden of guilt and any remaining affection or longing for Lavinia faded and, eventually, disappeared altogether. Gradually, he began to romance Mary again. It started at dinner one evening, as his hand roamed across her thigh under the table to capture one of hers. Their eyes met over their wine glasses, and both knew the time had come to begin anew.

Mary had been worried that the announcement of their engagement would prompt Sir Richard to finally print her story, but, to her great relief, he never did. Eventually, she was able to forget about him altogether, and bask in her immeasurable happiness in the passionate love she shared with Matthew. She had watched, with great joy, over the months following Lavinia's departure as he grew stronger and healthier, both physically and emotionally. The youthful, vibrant light returned to his eyes as the dark circles faded and disappeared. His walking stick was soon set aside, never to be picked up again until he was old and gray. By the time he, at last, knelt before Mary and asked her to become his wife, he was strong enough to lift her in his arms, spinning her around and around until they toppled over into the snow, dizzy and laughing and delirious with joy.

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><p>Lavinia had begun to worry by the time she finally received a beautifully printed card inviting her to the marriage of Lady Mary Josephine Crawley to Captain Matthew James Crawley on the twenty-fourth day of April, 1920. It had been nearly ten months since she had left Downton, and, had she not heard from Mary herself that things were going well between her and Matthew, Lavinia would have grown concerned that something had come between them. As it was, she was immeasurably happy that they were finally going to embark upon their new journey together.<p>

The months since the end of her engagement hadn't all been easy for Lavinia, but by the time the wedding invitation was set before her she could honestly say that her heart was completely healed. Upon arriving at her London home, after saying her final goodbye to Matthew at the train station on that momentous day, she had thrown herself into her father's waiting arms and finally allowed herself to sob openly until she was too exhausted to weep any longer. For the next week she kept mostly to her bed, allowing herself to indulge her grief for a limited time before forcing herself to move forward with her life. She forced herself to find distraction in society, and, sooner than she might have expected, the hurt began to lessen. She even went on a few very modern dates with gentlemen who showed interest in her, though no lasting relationships formed.

The wedding was every bit as beautiful and moving as she had expected it to be. She had never seen Matthew smile so broadly as he had when he greeted her upon her arrival at the church. She was sure he looked years younger than he had even when they first met. The look of pure delight that suffused his handsome face when Mary first appeared in her elegant bridal gown was all the compensation Lavinia needed for the months of heartache and loneliness. It had all been so very, very worth it.

Afterwards, she was asked to dance three times by a gentleman named Martin Sterling, a colleague of Matthew's, who seemed to have been instantly taken with her. She enjoyed his company well enough to answer in the affirmative when he asked if he could "look her up" when they returned to London. They saw each other, off and on, for several months, before she made the acquaintance of a charming young doctor who captured her heart almost instantly. Dr. Benjamin Daniels was a slightly built man with curly brown hair and lively green eyes. He was terribly clever and witty, with a charming, lively disposition that perfectly suited her every desire. Most importantly, when, one day, he placed one slender hand around her waist and drew her close to him, Lavinia finally understood what real passion was.

They were wed in an intimate ceremony at the London courthouse with only her ailing father and Mr. and Mrs. Daniels present. The day she became Mrs. Daniels was the most joyful of Lavinia's life. Her father was able to face the end of his life knowing his beloved daughter would be well cared for, and Lavinia found solace, after the eventual loss of her father, in the love and devotion of her new husband.

Though she saw very little of the new Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Crawley after their wedding, Lavinia would keep up a regular correspondence with Mary until her death in 1943. She wrote to congratulate the couple on the birth of their first, second, and third daughters before finally sending her best wishes on the arrival of the next heir to the Earldom.

Lavinia and Benjamin would only be blessed with one child - a sweet little ginger-haired boy called Toby. The birth was a long and difficult one, sadly rendering Lavinia unable to bear any more children. She was happy, however, with only her darling Toby. He was the delight and pride of her life.

On the day Matthew became the next Earl of Grantham, Lavinia began saving each newspaper clipping that mentioned her dear friends. After taking his seat in the House of Lords, Matthew was often mentioned in the press for his outspoken and progressive opinions and push for change towards more modern ways of thinking. He and Mary were often photographed together, and Lavinia always thought they made a very striking couple, no matter how the years changed them.

When the second World War broke out, Lavinia found comfort from her fear at the news that her son had enlisted when he informed her that he would be serving under the command of a General Matthew Crawley, the Earl of Grantham. She considered telling her son that his new leader had once been her intended, but decided against it. She did write to Mary, however, asking her to mention Toby's name to Matthew so that he could keep an eye on her darling boy, which he was only too happy to do. Matthew was even able to get Toby extended leave when his mother fell dangerously ill two years before the end of the war, allowing him to be by her side when she passed on.

After attending Lavinia's funeral with Mary at his side, Matthew divulged to Toby the entirety of his history with the boy's mother, shocking the young man greatly with the notion that his mother had almost been a countess. It certainly explained to Toby why the Earl had taken such an interest in him. Both the Earl and Countess were invariably kind and solicitous of his well-being, and Toby came to care for them almost as though they were family. After the end of the war, Toby was often invited to visit at Downton, where he met and fell head over heels in love with the golden-haired, blue-eyed Lady Lavinia Crawley, Mary and Matthew's eldest daughter.

_The End_

_*I kinda borrowed this line from Jane Austen, so she should get the credit. Mr. Bennet says something similar when he gives permission for Elizabeth to marry Mr. Darcy. _

_**You may remember Lavinia saying these same words to Matthew during the finale just before she dies._

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><p>Well, there it is, folks!<p>

I have another M/M story in the works that will hopefully be ready to begin posting soon! It will begin in Season 2, Episode 5, and will explore how things might have gone differently for our favorite couple after Matthew's injury if Mary had turned down Sir Richard's proposal, and her story had already been published. It's gunna get good, guys, so be on the lookout!

Thanks for reading!


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